


He Belongs To Me

by Butcherjones



Category: David Bowie (Musician), Lou Reed (Musician)
Genre: BDSM, Jealousy, Love Triangle, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-03
Updated: 2010-02-03
Packaged: 2017-10-07 00:28:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/59378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Butcherjones/pseuds/Butcherjones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lou and Angie both want the same thing: complete control of their shared lover. Written from Lou's point of view. ABUSE AND MANIPULATION WARNING</p>
            </blockquote>





	He Belongs To Me

I see him here, sitting beside me at another of these dull parties, looking so coolly bored and exquisitely beautiful as always. His beauty is unearthly, so amazing that it seems one man should not be enough to contain it, like a love poem crafted of bones and flesh. I could write volumes on his beauty, but words can't do justice to him - he is an enigma, a person that even I can't seem to figure out, although I'd never admit that.

He's mine. Not all the time, of course, and I'm not permitted to hold him in the early mornings and breath the scent of his hair like in all the sappy movies, but he's still mine. He knows it as well as I do. Sure, he takes his refuge in other arms, in other beds - we both do - but in the end he's my pet, my own.

He forgets, sometimes. I don't mind. Nobody's perfect, not even a creature like him, and if there are times when I have to remind him, it seems a small price to pay to hold him as my own. Sometimes he forgets how much he loves me. I don't think he knows how much I love him. He's a bit silly that way. He should know that I'd never do the things I do if I didn't love him. Every lash of the whip, every bruise and laceration - all done in love. All done for him.

He's not the only one who questions it, though. I've seen the way she looks at me - those nasty, catty glares from across the room as she clings tightly to his arm. The bitch. I can see the dark glint of jealousy in her eyes, behind that plastic smile and guise of airy nonchalance. She's not willing to share possession of him. Well, neither am I.

I won't let her have him. She may be able to lay him down, may have the luxury of hanging him on her arm like some fucking trophy, but he'll always come back to me. I'll make sure of that. And if it means more harsh punishments in the dark, more bloody welts laying open his beautiful white skin, then so be it. He has to understand that he's mine. And only mine.

She smiles at me from across the table and I can tell by the look in her eyes that she knows what I'm thinking about. She must really think she's something big, playing a game like this. She has no clue what she's up against. She doesn't know that if given half a chance I'd tear her little mind apart.

I won't let her take him away. I won't let anyone.

He belongs to me.


End file.
